


with my heart uncrossed

by feralphoenix



Category: Undertale (Video Game)
Genre: American Sign Language, Autistic Frisk, Autistic Papyrus, Depression, Families of Choice, Gen, Nonverbal Frisk, Spoilers
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-12-01
Updated: 2015-12-01
Packaged: 2018-05-04 07:34:07
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,126
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5325920
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/feralphoenix/pseuds/feralphoenix
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>
  <i>If you’re just looking for a place to stay… just ask!!! You don’t need to fight me!!!<br/>      - Your host, Papyrus</i>
</p>
            </blockquote>





	with my heart uncrossed

**Author's Note:**

> _(one of those small words that means entirely too much_ – every human touch will be repaid)
> 
> some clarification/specifics for the nonverbal frisk tag: for this fic they are capable of speech but find sign language easier, so that's what they default to when they're upset/tired/otherwise emotionally overwhelmed. they spend most scenes in this fic in nonverbal episodes.

Gorgeous crystalline mist swirls about the passageway to Waterfall. You could watch the great snowflake patterns for hours—literally, because you do not have skin and the cold does not bother you; being a skeleton is the best thing!!—mesmerized by their beauty and what a cool figure you must cut against them, a tall dark silhouette in the shimmering white. Especially in your great costume!

But there are even bigger and more important things than your own greatness on your mind right now. Or rather—Small things. Human-y things.

You are not quite sure what to do with the tiny human anymore. They come to challenge you, let you overpower them to within inches of their life, and then when you leave them in your garage for safekeeping they just keep escaping and coming back!

They manage to last a little longer every attempt, but they don’t pose any kind of threat to you. Not only is their Level of Violence still only at one, but they have not managed to even get close to facing your special attack. They don’t try to hit you either! They just keep insisting that they don’t want to fight you, and you can understand that, because your greatness is very intimidating and you are sure that between your fancy spellwork and cool puzzles, they must have developed a healthy respect for you by now.

And yet—they just will not stop sneaking out of the garage to find you. It is… concerning, to say the least. They are very determined, if nothing else. You’re not worried that you’re going to hurt them! Your control is better than that (a lifetime of sparring with your fragile brother has made sure of it). But they show no signs of giving up and staying captured, and you do not know why. Either they have some really urgent business past Waterfall that you don’t know about, or…

They are only a very small human. And they like your puzzles so much! They even left you what must have been almost all of the spaghetti you set as a trap for them, which is sort of really generous, given what a master chef you are??

Anyway, you know what’s in it for _you_ if you capture them. But you aren’t sure what’s going to happen to _them_ once you hand them off to Undyne. You are made slightly uneasy by this state of affairs.

You wish that they would just stay put, so that you would not have to be in this predicament.

(You also wish that there was someone you could ask for help about this, kind of? Undyne is your boss and your friend and you look up to her lots, but you feel like her answer would probably be somewhat biased? You _need_ someone to help you search your soul for the best course of action here, versus someone whose opinion you can already guess at.

If only you could still confide in Sans. But he’s in no state for that. He hasn’t been for a long time, and you definitely don’t need to push your troubles onto him when he’s like this. You sort of wish you had someone who could help you with him, too.)

Out of the mist, you see a small dark shape moving towards you and sigh.

Remember what you’re doing this for, you tell yourself. You’re already great but you’re going to become greater than ever, and your dream is waiting for you, and finally you will get all the respect and admiration and friendship you’ve always wanted. You can help Undyne and the king for real!! You can provide for Sans even better!!! There will be hedges in the shape of your face!!!! What is there to hesitate about!!!!!

The tiny human draws closer, trudging through the snow that comes almost all the way up to their skinny knees. You try to muster up the resolve to ready your bone attacks, but your heart isn’t really in it anyway, and—something about their little silhouette is different this time. You squint through veils of powdery ice.

Always before, when they came to “challenge” you, they would do so facing forward, resolute. You respected that, even as it frazzled you—they are awfully brave for a creature so small! This time, though, their head is bowed, their dark brown hair hanging into their face. Concern pummels you immediately, and you step forward before you’re aware of deciding to do so, one foot and then the other, already bending down a little to be closer to their eye level.

There is something—a paper—rolled up in their tiny hand, crumpled in the middle from the strength of their grip.

What’s more, you realize once you have gotten close enough to each other—their face is wet and reddened, and they’re making a low whimpering noise.

“Human!” You crouch down before them. They still do not raise their chin to look at you, but what you can see of their expression twists. In misery, probably? You’re not the best at reading faces you’re not familiar with, but this time you’re pretty sure that you’re right. “What’s the matter? What’s happened? You can tell the great Papyrus anything!”

They lift one snow-encrusted hand and scrape it over their face as if to scrub the tears away. Lowering it back to their side, they open their mouth. Their chest rises as they take a breath—and then they seem to change their mind, and breathe out. It makes a small white cloud in front of their face.

Instead they hold out the paper in their hand, stretching it out and holding it out to you so that you can read it.

That’s your handwriting! In fact, this appears to be… the note you left with them in the garage???

            _If you’re just looking for a place to stay… just ask!!! You don’t need to fight me!!!  
                        - Your host, Papyrus_

You look from the note to the trembling human. Their mouth is warped into a grimacey suppressed sob, their brow is scrunched up, their nose is leaking, and their eyes are almost completely closed, the sliver of blue nearly obscured by their eyelashes and the tears and snowflakes that rime them.

Well, you are pretty sure that they are running a risk of their eyes freezing shut, which you don’t think is very good for fleshy folk, but it’s the color that gives you pause. That blue. It makes you think of Sans.

The visions of Royal Guard membership that had been dancing in your head take a quiet bow and see themselves off your mental stage. You are a skeleton with standards, and you know what the right thing to do is.

“I meant that, very much,” you tell them as seriously as you can. “Tiny human— _would_ you like a place to stay?”

Their chin drops again. Their left hand unfolds from the paper, and they begin to shake.

You’re about to prompt them to just nod yes or shake their head no, but then they stumble straight up against your chest and put their arms around your neck, and start bawling like a baby bones.

This is very sudden and leaves you quite bonetrousled for just a wink, but then you fold your arms around them carefully and stand up, holding them snugly against you. Their tears are getting your scarf and your battle body wet, but you mind this less than you ever would have expected.

“There, there,” you say, patting them on the back. You think Sans used to do this for you when you were small, maybe? The memories are vague, but you trace them as best you can. “Everything will be just fine! All right, let’s see about getting you out of this cold, for now.”

They don’t reply—they only cling to you more tightly, this warm wet miserable snippet of humanity. Temperatures have never made much of an impression on you and they never will, cold or warm, but… for all that their wailing is kind of loud… the sensation of carrying them in your arms is actually rather nice.

 

 

Sans, being such an unrepentant lazybones, is slouched down on the sofa when you open the door—so much so that his rear end is nearly hanging off the cushion. His gaze flicks towards you without his skull even moving—and then he actually _sits up,_ which is not a thing that you ever seem to be able to make him do anymore just by coming home.

You stamp your boots on the mat, and Sans boggles at you—at the human in your arms. He’s still wearing his usual grin, but it looks stretched to you, forced.

“Uh,” he says. “Bro?”

“There’s been a change in plans!” you inform him, as cheerfully as you can. “The human needs a place to stay, so of course we can’t just keep them in the garage! We must put them up here in the house, like proper hosts!”

Sans goes on looking at you critically. At last, he says, “And what about Undyne? You already called to say you’d be handing the human over to her, didn’t you?”

“We will just have to cross that bridge when we get to it!” you reply, because you did not want to be reminded of that just now, thank you so much, Sans. “What matters right now is that I, the great Papyrus, have formally extended my hospitality to the human!! They need a roof over their head and a nice warm place to stay and a good meal and I am going to provide those things, you see if I won’t!!”

Your brother shrugs at you like he doesn’t even care, infuriating as ever. He hitches himself up off the couch and stuffs his hands in his pockets. “I think maybe they also need you to stop shouting in their ear and put ‘em down,” he says.

You frown—you do not think that you were being that loud!—but Sans is not the only person to have told you that your volume control is faulty when you get excited, so you suppose there may be a grain of truth to that. You kneel down so that the human’s feet will be able to touch the floor. They hang on to you for another few moments—their arms squeeze your shoulders—and then their weight eases off your chest. They tuck their hands under their arms and look around, hunching in on themself.

“All right,” says Sans. “C’mere, buddo, let’s have a look at you.”

The human turns their face towards you, and you nod to them as reassuringly as you can. They smile just the tiniest bit, and wander over to Sans in little steps.

“Hands,” he tells them, taking his own out of his pockets and holding them out palms-up. The human gingerly sets their own hands there. You take a step closer, concerned despite yourself, but for all his complaining just a moment ago Sans is gentle when he flips the human’s hands over, inspecting their reddened fingers. “Yeah, looks like you’ve been spending too much time out there, kiddo. Bet you’re chilled to the _bone.”_ You groan, but the human giggles a little. Sans’ grin widens. “When’s the last time you had a good meal?”

The human scrunches up their face. You wonder if this means that they are troubled, or if they just have to think about it. You don’t like either of those options.

“I,” they say in a little piping voice, “um,” and they take a deep breath but they never say anything else after that. They rock back and forth on their heels, turn from you to Sans and back again, and slowly begin to move their hands in patterns you recognize. _I don’t know. I bought some bread at the shop but that was a while ago._ Then, finished signing, they clasp their hands against their middle, and turn their head from Sans to you and back to Sans.

“Well, that shan’t do!” you proclaim. “Find a nice place to kick back and relax, human, for the great Papyrus will immediately cook you a fresh plate of spaghetti!!!”

The human’s mouth drops open a little. They are probably surprised, you think.

“You fed them spaghetti already today,” Sans reminds you. “For your trap, remember?”

“Yes, but they left most of it so that we could share, and also there is no such thing as too much spaghetti?” you argue, frowning.

Sans jams his hands back in his pockets and shrugs. “Eh. If you say so, bro. But spaghetti’ll take a while to cook, and I think we want to get some hot food into your new friend here asap. Tell you what, I’ll go bag something up at Grillby’s. You want anything, while I’m there?”

“No, Sans, you know how much I hate grease,” you grouse.

Your brother shrugs again. “Hey, suit yourself. More for me and the kid here.” He winks his left eye, and then saunters over to the kitchen door, still in his slippers. Then he’s closed the door behind him and is gone. You resist the urge to sigh after him. He only ever seems to use his powers for terrible japes and lazy shortcuts, anymore. You suppose you ought to be glad that he’s still using them at all.

This leaves you and the human alone together in the living room. The snow that had dusted the human’s hair and shirt is melting now, and as you watch them they begin to shiver.

“Why don’t you go on and sit down on the couch,” you suggest, setting a hand on their shoulder to herd them. They follow your lead, obedient. “We have blankets and things and you can wrap up and we can watch television or something!”

This might be a good thing anyway, because your bed and Sans’ both only fit one skeleton each. If the human likes the couch, they can sleep there until you come up with something better! (Besides, Sans’ room has a literal trash tornado in the corner—you can’t possibly have the human spend the night in _there_ until you get him to clean up. Which you will do, somehow, because Sans was a neat _er_ person if not a _neat-_ neat person once upon a time.)

As thoughts of your brother distract you, the human clambers up onto the sofa and curls up alongside the armrest. The cushions only jangle a little bit. You fetch the quilt from over the back and hand it to them; they wrap it around their body so that only their head and their hands are sticking out.

Then they smile, and stretch out their hands to shake their wrists. _Thank you,_ they sign.

“Do not worry about it, tiny human!” you reply. Without further ado, you fetch the remote control and lower yourself next to them.

They make a very soft sound, then reach out and tap on your arm as if trying to make sure they have your attention. _Do all monsters understand sign language?_ they ask.

“No, not all of us,” you reply. “My brother and I do! And so does the king!! And Undyne I think, maybe? She is my very cool boss who is friends with the king also, I believe she may have learned some from him.”

You could tell them that there are some sad stories there, disappeared people, long-lost children, but that might make things awkward and anyway it’s almost time for Mettaton’s cooking show to start. This is no time to bring up a subject so gloomy.

Besides, Sans comes in through the front door then—or rather, he appears in front of it, a huge paper bag in his arms. “’Sup,” he announces himself, grinning. “Got Grillby to whip us up a couple of burgs, and also we’ve got a _ton_ of fries. A skele-ton.”

_“Sans,”_ you complain, but beside you the human is giggling.

“I see my usual spot’s been usurped,” Sans comments. There’s a rustle beside you—you tilt your skull to the side to find the human making as if to get up—but your brother goes on, “No need for that, kid; you’re our guest. And I like the floor. Nice and homey.”

He slouches over to you, and stands in the way of the TV to annoy you as he hands the bag over to the human. “Pick out whichever burg you want, I’ll hang on to the bag so we can both reach the fries.” And as the human tentatively reaches a hand towards their terrible junk food, Sans grins at you. “Time for everybody’s favorite robo host?”

“Yes, so sit down!!” you tell him with an enormous scowl. He shrugs and listens to you, slumping down between your knees and the ends of the human’s quilt that dangle over the sofa edge. The human themself is regarding you with head cocked to one side, still-wrapped burger in their hands. “We mean Mettaton! He is my favorite sexy rectangle.”

From the floor, Sans snorts. “Like you know what a ‘sexy’ even is.”

“I do too know what a sexy even is,” you tell him, because you _do,_ it is a word that people use when they refer to things that are great. Maybe one day you too will attain a level of greatness that will allow you to introduce yourself as ‘the sexy Papyrus’ instead of ‘the great Papyrus’?? At least, that is your hope, even if it might take a little longer than you expected to reach that level. You’ll still get there someday. “Hush, now, Sans. The show is going to start!”

And you turn the television on.

Mettaton is as entertaining as usual tonight, and you love watching him strike poses and change outfits and listening to him calling all his viewers darlings because that is very sweet of him and he is a good rectangle. But it’s hard to concentrate tonight for some reason. You keep glancing over to the human as they sit next to you. Even though fried food is gross and bad for you, it is for some reason imperative that they keep eating their fill of french fries (they reach for more every few minutes, so there’s that). It’s also important to make sure that they are not too bored—but they are not, or at least you don’t think so, because whenever you check their expression they’re looking at the show and smiling.

The cooking special ends after an hour. Sans, predictably, dozes off in the middle; you don’t even bother to turn the volume down because you know your brother can sleep through anything if he really wants to.

As for the human, they have gathered up all the other blankets and made a nest of them, but they are still awake and watching you. Their expression is relaxed, and it fills your whole soul with warmth to see them smile like that.

“There are a lot of things we can do now, if you want to,” you say, trying to speak a bit more quietly than usual. “There are a lot of puzzles! And both of us have lots of books to read, if you would like them? We can go to the library once you have finished warming up, and I can teach you to make spaghetti—you can come to my cooking lessons with me if you want, too!”

_That all sounds fun,_ the human signs. _I think I need to rest first though._

You nod, though deep down you do wonder a little why everyone around you needs to spend so much time asleep. “Okay! You know what’s best for you, and if that is sleep, then that is how it is! I will get myself and my brother out of your way so you can have a quiet naptime, and you can come get me if you need anything at all!!”

They smile at you. _Thank you,_ they say, and then they pull their hands back under the blankets and snuggle in so that you can only see their face and hair poking out.

You make to nudge Sans with your boot, but he’s already standing up, shrugging his jacket back into place on his shoulders. “You’re exiling us from the living room, huh?” he says in a low voice. “Good on you, bro. I had my worries, but I guess you’ll make a mom of yourself yet.”

_“I,”_ you inform him, “will be an _excellent_ mom. You watch me. Now let us go, brother! And need I remind you that now would be a great time to clean up your room, since we must stay upstairs!!”

“Ugh,” says Sans, “you’ll definitely make a great mom if you keep nagging like this.”

You shoo your brother up the stairs, but—maybe just because of the quiet giggling behind you, it’s impossible not to smile.

 

 

Later in the night, you open your door and creep out—you need some more bones for your crate, if Sans hasn’t let that gluttonous dog back in to steal them again you should still have plenty under the sink. You must sneak through as quietly as possible so as not to disturb your tiny houseguest, if they’re still asleep, you think—but from the living room, you can hear a high-pitched voice, which gives you pause.

It takes a moment for you to recognize it as the human. You didn’t expect them to be chatting with Sans at this hour, but—no, that cannot be right, because faint strobing light still filters from underneath his closed bedroom door, and anyway Sans understands sign language perfectly well, so if it was him that’s what the human would be using. They certainly seem to prefer it, anyway.

The lights aren’t on, so maybe they have someone on the phone? If the other person is replying, you sure can’t hear them, so that seems to be a likely explanation! You will wait until they’re done talking, then, because you would hate to be interrupted in the middle of a call.

“—really are nice. I told you. We could stay, if we want.”

A pause.

“I think they mean it, though. I think she did too.” The pause this time is shorter, and when they go on, they’re softer. “I don’t know about that. I don’t think she was trying to use us, I mean, _me_ … to replace anybody. I think she was just really lonely.” Silence for a while. “I mean, weren’t we?”

You wait for a while. They haven’t said goodbye to their phone person, but you think that maybe they’ve hung up or been hung up on?? Either way, you’re about ready to stand up and walk down the stairs—if they’re awake, then that means you can hang out!!—when they start to speak again, abrupt.

“I get what you mean, though. I’d feel bad. It’s… _too_ nice here.” The human sighs. “But it made me happy. I think he really would let us stay if we could.”

Quiet, again. You sit in the silence. You remember feeling like this before, when you and Sans practiced together back when you were baby bones. Except that it’s not magic, now, that makes your whole soul feel deep blue.

“I know.” Pause. “It’s okay.” Pause. “You don’t have to say you’re sorry, it’s okay.” They sound so sad, but even you know that this is no time to tramp down the stairs and interrupt. “Sometimes you can’t help it.”

There is another long, long stretch of quiet.

“Yeah,” says the human. “I know. Tomorrow. I want to say thank you, ‘cause they’ve been so nice to us.” A pause. “Yes, us.” Silence again. “You’re here, though, aren’t you?”

Maybe they’re not talking on the phone after all. You frown at the wall, just a little.

The human laughs. They sound sad, though, so you don’t think their conversation partner has made a joke. “Okay.” Muzzier: “Good night, Chara.” And fainter: “I love you.”

You sit very still, although that conversation seems to have ended. After a few minutes, you can pick up faint snoring if you strain your ear canals. You could finally go down and get those bones now, but… you don’t think you want to, anymore.

You want—you want to go to Sans’ room, actually! You aren’t entirely sure why. If you tell him that now you’re feeling blue too, he might just laugh at you. Besides, if you go into his room you’ll just wind up nagging him to clean it, and you are quite sure that arguing with your bonehead brother at this point in time would make you feel even lonelier.

Sitting around is all well and good, but it won’t help anything. You know what you need to do, and getting all melancholy over it is not going to make it any easier. So you sigh and get to your feet, and tiptoe back into your room, closing the door as softly as you can.

Instead you try to think of where you’ve heard the name “Chara” before. You’re sure you have, somewhere. It reminds you of New Home, somehow, you think, maybe?? But it’s not a common name. You don’t think you’ve ever spoken to a monster or a ghost who goes by it.

Sans might know. But you have a niggling feeling that telling him about it would be a bad idea. You would have to admit to eavesdropping if you did, anyway, and he would never let you live that down.

So you remove your boots and stretch out on your race car bed, crossing your arms underneath your skull and staring up at the ceiling. This is part of being a mom, too, you remind yourself. Maybe you didn’t expect it to happen so soon, but—well. If you’re going to be the human’s mom, you are going to be the best one you can!! They’re your friend. You want what’s best for them, even if it might be hard for you.

You doze, for a while.

 

 

In the morning, the human follows you into the kitchen and tugs at your hand. All your plans of letting them start this conversation fly straight out the window when you see their expression, though—they look so obviously downcast, even to you! What kind of friend _or_ mom would you be if you let them go on like that?? So you kneel down in front of them, and you start.

“You have some reason why you can’t stay here after all, don’t you, tiny human?”

Their mouth drops open. They stay there frozen for a moment, and then they lift their hands. _How did you know?_

“There are a lot of reasons, but mainly because you look very sad,” you tell them. “I think of you as my friend, and I don’t want you to have to be so sad! So I will not make this harder on you. If you must leave, I will not try to stop you. However! I do want you to know that my offer remains open to you no matter what. Whether you intend to stay here with us in the long term or just a little while, if you would ever like a sofa to sleep on, you can come back here. Sans and I will always be happy to see you.

“Furthermore! I will give you my phone number, and if you ever need advice or help or just want to say hello, you may call me! Any time of the day or night is fine, I will always pick up by the second ring!”

The human sniffles very loudly and rubs a hand over their face. After a while: _I’m sorry,_ they sign, and they keep signing it, making circles upon circles over their heart with a clenched fist.

“That’s all right,” you tell them. “I had a lot of fun hanging out with you, and I’d love to do it again sometime, the next time you’re in the neighborhood! Now, how about I show you the way to get to Waterfall? As extra-special proof of our friendship, I will also give you directions for how to get through the Underground! You must—” And you falter, here, just a little, but you forge ahead bravely. “You must want to go back home very much.”

Strangely—the human falters for a moment, too. But they nod, all the same.

“I would like to give you all the help I can,” you tell them, very seriously. “Because you are my friend, and I will miss you if you leave, but also I want you to be happy most of all.”

The human folds their lip into their mouth. They don’t say anything—with their hands or with their voice. But they do step forward and rest their small body against your chest again.

You wrap your arms around them. It hurts your heart, a little, but the hurt is neither good nor bad. They’re warm, you notice for the second time. That, at least, is very nice.

“There, there,” you tell them, and pat them on the back. “It’s all going to be okay! It’s not going to be goodbye for a long while yet, and besides, you’ll still have my phone number. The great Papyrus will _always_ be your friend. I am here, whenever you need me.”

The human nods against your shoulder, and then wriggles out of your arms. They smile for you, and raise their hands: _Thank you._

“You are very welcome,” you inform them. “Now come! Let us be off! I am sure that today will be a very big adventure for the both of us!”

Even once you see them safely to Waterfall—you’ll have Undyne to talk to. Convincing her to leave the human alone might be hard, but someone will have to do it, and thankfully you are just the kind of cool and steadfast person to entrust such an arduous labor to! Maybe you can even get her to be friends with the human, too. It’s only a hunch, but you think that they—they and whoever this “Chara” is that they spoke to—could use as many friends as they can get.

For now, though, you stand up gallantly and extend your hand to them. They fit their own small hand into the palm of your glove, and turn their calm smile up at you.

This being a friend-mom thing is hard work, you decide. But rewarding, too.


End file.
